


Part (35/39)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [35]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back at Mickey's house</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part (35/39)

At first Mickey was so relieved to have Ian back with him — so surprised that he had, in some strange way, won this battle — that he didn’t notice any other feeling. 

"You gonna be able to make it to my place?" he asked a bit roughly.

"Why? You gonna carry me if I’m not?" Ian teased, elbowing him.

"No, dickhead, I’m gonna find a cab. Jesus, you think I’m Prince Charming?"

"You’re _my_ prince,” Ian said, completely unabashed.

Mickey swore a little and looked him up and down. “Seriously, man. You up for the walk?” 

"Course I am. I’ll race you there!"

Ian started to jog and Mickey swore again, grabbing Ian’s arm and pulling him back. “Fucking settle down there, Superman. You just got outta bed.”

They fell into step together and walked the five blocks to Mickey’s house, Ian giving Mickey occasional little sideways smiles. It took a while for Mickey to stop worrying about Ian potentially passing out but he remained as robust as ever and gradually Mickey became aware of a more general agitation underlying his concern for Ian’s health.

_Adrenaline rush_ , he told himself.

They reached the house and Ian loped up the porch steps and inside first. By the time Mickey got to the living room, Mandy was hugging Ian and squealing with delight, and even Svetlana had made the effort of putting down her cigarette and going over to pat his shoulder. 

For a few minutes Mickey stood in the doorway, watching, while Ian basked in the attention. The excitement brought Iggy out of his room, and he slapped Ian on the back with what seemed like genuine pleasure. When Ian extricated himself and went over to pull Yvegeni out of the bassinet for a cuddle, Mickey suddenly found himself simmering with some strange combination of emotions that made him want to escape the mood of goodwill and congratulations. 

No one noticed as he pushed open his bedroom door and disappeared inside. The quiet room should have calmed him but somehow he found himself pacing restlessly, not sure what was making him so edgy. He felt like punching a wall, though some newfound sense of impulse control stopped him. Maybe it was related to the kid — not to mention the fragile lover — on the other side of the inviting target. 

He went into the bathroom, splashed a bit of water on his face, and leaned against the sink for a moment, trying to steady himself. Finally, he pulled off the gray shirt he’d buttoned up a few hours earlier and tossed it into a corner of his room, then kicked off his jeans, hit the light, and crawled onto the bed in his shorts.

Out in the living room he could still hear the clamour of excited voices — Mandy’s playful teasing, Svetlana’s drawl, his brother’s deep voice mixing animatedly with Ian’s, the baby’s intermittent cries. Mickey leaned against the headboard, lit a cigarette, and waited in the growing dusk.

***

Ian came into the room about half an hour later. By that time the noise had died down a bit, and Mickey was staring at the street outside his window. He turned at the sound of the door opening, saw Ian, and focused on the open bottle in his hand. _How does alcohol mix with Ian’s meds_ , he found himself wondering.

Ian glanced at him curiously, then came over to the bed and handed the beer to Mickey. “You okay?” he asked.

Mickey nodded, grateful for the drink. He gulped it down as Ian began undressing, eyes still on Mickey. 

"Nice to be back in your bed again," Ian ventured with a small smile.

For some reason that made the knot in Mickey’s gut twist tighter. When Ian, down to his boxers, climbed on to the bed beside him, Mickey reacted without thinking, jumping up abruptly.

Ian stared at him. “What’s wrong, Mickey?”

Mickey ran a hand through his hair. He turned toward the window and then back again, confused and frustrated. He should be happy to have Ian back here. _What is wrong with me?_

When he spoke, the words seemed to bypass his brain and come out before he knew what they would be. “Did you know about the coke?”

Ian’s brow furrowed for a moment, and then he looked down. “What about it?”

"Did you know what could happen?"

For another moment, Ian stayed silent. Then he looked up at Mickey, all trace of animation gone from his face. “Yeah. I knew.”

Mickey lifted his hand in frustration. “Then — you — then why’d you do it?”

"Afraid I was gonna lose my hard-on. Didn’t want to disappoint you."

Mickey jerked backwards, away from the bed, then paced over to the other side of room, suddenly not wanting to see Ian. “Oh, you didn’t — you didn’t want to _disappoint_ me. Because watching you thrash around on the floor like you were in your fucking death throes was positively _inspiring_.”

"I knew it was a risk. I didn’t think anything would actually happen. Mickey — come back here. I’m sorry." 

He knew he should — he should go back to the bed, lie down beside Ian and be glad everything had worked out the way it did. Only his whole body was shaking now, and he didn’t think it was just the cold.

In another moment Ian was standing in front of him, a hand gentle on his arm. “I’m sorry I scared you, Mick. But look, I’m fine. No harm done.”

_No harm done?_ Mickey recoiled, staring at Ian in amazement. “No harm to _who?_ ” he demanded, suddenly furious.

"I mean — " Ian looked like it occurred to him for the first time that he might not be the only one who’d just gone through something. "To me. I’m okay. Physically."

Mickey spun around, stalking a few feet away, then turned back toward Ian. ”You weren’t the one that had to watch you passed out in a fuckin’ ambulance.” His voice was rising; he didn’t seem to be able to control it. “You weren’t the one that took the heat for it.”

"What do you mean, took the — "

"Your sisters’n brothers, man. They straight-up told me it was my fault. They said you were better off there."

"C’mon, Mickey." Ian half-smiled at him, coaxing and skeptical. "They didn’t mean that."

"No? They told you I didn’t want you here. And you believed ‘em. Didn’t you?"

Ian’s eyes shifted away. “I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.”

“ _Why?_ ” Mickey wanted to shake Ian. But he held himself away, his back against a wall. “Ian. I been lookin’ after you since you first got sick. Ain’t ever had a problem with it. Did I ever make you think I do?” 

"No. It’s not that. They told me … "

"I know what they told you. Why did you believe it? _Why didn’t you defend me?_ ”

They both stopped, staring at each other in a kind of stunned silence. And then Ian stepped forward, reaching out to him, and Mickey instinctively put up his hands, blocking Ian’s approach, holding him off.

Ian stopped a few inches away and lowered his hand. “I should have,” he said slowly. “You’re right. I should have stood up for you.” He stood completely still, just out of range, his eyes fixed on Mickey’s. “You’ve always been there for me. I should have believed in you.”

It was such a strange sensation for Mickey, this feeling of _winning_. Of getting what he so desperately wanted. _Twice in one night_ , he thought. And then, recklessly, he pushed on. “And — and you need to be responsible for your condition,” he said. ”Your meds.”

Ian nodded, still solemn. “I know.”

Mickey folded his arms in front of him, firmer now. “You gotta tell me about anything that might fuck you up. And if you ain’t gonna make good decisions yourself you need to listen to _me_ when I tell you what to do.” He could hardly believe himself; it’s like he was going for broke.

Ian nodded again, smiling at the ground. “Yes, Mickey,” he said, half-mocking.

"I mean it."

"I know." 

Mickey could see the promise in Ian’s eyes. His arms fell loose and defenceless in front of him. Ian seized the opportunity to move forward again, and this time Mickey didn’t stop him.

"I’m sorry," Ian breathed against Mickey’s cheek, and Mickey nodded, his eyes wet, but Ian in his arms.


End file.
